The Poosycat affair
by MLaw
Summary: Napoleon has some vacation plans in Paris...oh la la. Need I say more. (pre-saga)


Napoleon Solo finally admitted it to himself that he was indeed a Casanova; he was always dallying with a different lady, whether he slept with her or not. That was pretty much the definition of a womanizer, though he liked the term Casanova better.

Still he was always a gentleman and never mistreated his paramours. Yes he slept with most of them, but only if they were willing, and a lot of them were.

He went from one woman to another the way a honey bee would drift from flower to flower, gathering its nectar. Napoleon concluded, like nectar, his time with women was a necessity, food for his soul and his libido.

It would at times put a stay to the loneliness he sometimes felt. As an agent he was accustomed to jetting off from one assignment to the next, barely spending time at hom.

He wasn't completely alone in the world; he had his Aunt Amy, and the rest of his family when they were around, and of course Illya who was like a brother.

Yet knew Napoleon knew needed more, there was a void in his life that needed filling. That's where the ladies came into the picture.

His relationships with women didn't last long, and he had no hesitation seeing more than one lady at a time. Most of them knew he wasn't exclusively theirs, and vice versa. It was an arrangement that worked.

Women were drawn to him as he was to them. In this age of free love it was like being a kid in a candy shop. At times there were so many women drifting in and out of his life that he began to lose track of their names.

Napoleon's hand went to his cheek, still remembering the sting of being slapped by several of those ladies whose names he got wrong. He'd sort of over booked his schedule.

To solve his naming issue he started calling his dates _Poosycat_. That way in the throes of passion he wouldn't utter the wrong name. So far it was working quite well.

He first used the term during the 'See-Paris-and-Die- Affair,' and smiled when he recalled strolling with Mary Pilgrim to the dance floor where he addressed Illya as Poosycat. The Russian most certainly did not appreciate it. Or was it the fact that Kuryakin was left sitting with Madame Gruschenka who suddenly had taken a liking to his partner because he was Russian.

That was another time but the place was the same...ah Paris!

It was the first week of summer when Napoleon was taking some of his much accrued vacation time. Since he was already in Paris, what better place for some joie de vivre with the ladies of headquarters there, as well as a few of the local beauties, and there were plenty of them!

He made reservations for L'hotel Montmartre from an office in Paris UNCLE headquarters; staying in guest quarters there just wasn't done while on vacation, and plus it would have cramped his style. On his way out he turned in his badge to Giselle, the spectacular red-headed receptionist.

Napoleon leaned over, whispering in her ear the sweet nothings he knew she liked to hear as they were not strangers to each other by any means.

"Of course," she whispered back." I'll meet you at the Montmartre at seven, _n'est pas?_ "

" _À bientôt,_ Poosycat." He blew her a gentle kiss before exiting headquarters.

Once outside he hailed a taxi, deciding to go straight to the hotel to shower and freshen up. Knowing that red-headed Poosycat, she'd adore an intimate candlelight dinner and afterwards an order of oysters and champagne, followed by, well... that was a given.

The taxi pulled up in front of the hotel and Solo paid the fare before stepping out after the red jacketed door opened the car door with white-gloved hands.

"Welcome to the hotel Montmartre, monseiur

" _Merci,"_ Solo nodded. A porter quickly took his suitcase and garment bag inside.

"Could you have my tuxedo pressed please?" Napoleon asked in French.

The porter cocked his head with a smile, and with that reaction Solo suddenly envisioned Illya somehow whispering in the fellow's ear about his so-called awful French accent.

Still nothing was said.

"Immeciately _, monsieur._ Shall I 'ave your luggage brought up to your room?" The porter switched to English.

"Yes please _,"_ Napoleon nodded. Looking at his watch, he had more than enough time before Poosycat would arrive; he headed to the bar.

"Why not?" He smiled to himself; he could use a drink.

Ordering his usual scotch on the rocks; the vacationing agent noticed a lovely blonde at the end of the bar. He beckoned to the barman with a wave of his finger.

"I'd like to buy the lady a drink."

" _Oui Monsieur_ , she is 'aving a _Mouton Rothschild_ **.** "

Solo nodded his approval, knowing it was a fine wine.

As soon as the drink was delivered Napoleon raised his glass to her with a nod, and of course she came over to thank him in person.

Her name was...what was it? She told him but it went straight out of his head as he was busy looking into her green eyes, and admiring her curvaceous figure. What did it matter; he'd just call her Poosycat.

It wasn't long before he was heading upstairs to his room with this newest Poosycat on his arm.

What the heck, he had time; it wasn't the first opportunity he had to be more than one woman in an evening, nor would it be the last. That thought alone tickled his libido into high gear.

They went from some serious necking on the sofa, directly to his bed where their clothes were shed in a matter of minutes. Just as things were getting hot and heavy, the telephone rang.

" _Excusez-moi,"_ Napoleon raised himself up on his hands, disengaging from his bed mate as he reached for the phone. _"Oui allo?"_

" _Monsieur_ Solo, a Mademoiselle is on 'er way up to your room. She said you were expecting 'er."

" _Merci,_ " Napoleon quickly hung up the receiver. "Umm, Poosycat there's a bit of a problem. I have an appointment with...well, someone is coming to see me and she's arrived early."

"Wait?" Poosycat jumped to conclusions. "You're married?"

"Wife? No no, not at all, a business associate. Quick you have to hide!" That was actually the truth. He grabbed Poosycat as well as her clothing and deposited the blonde in the closet. "Shhh, please don't make a sound and stay put?"

"As long as you do not forget me?" She was now purring, and nibbled on his earlobe, sending Solo's eyes rolling.

"Not now, later. Rest assured, I could never forget you _ma chérie d'amour,_ my Poosycat. " He shut the double doors on her.

Napoleon quickly made the bed and had just enough time to hop in the shower, barely rinsing off before grabbing his bathrobe to answer the knock at the door.

After checking the peephole, he opened it.

There she was, leaning seductively with one hand on the door frame. She was wearing a black trench coat and as soon as she stepped inside she took it off with a flourish, revealing that she was stitch stark naked.

" _Oh Napoléon!_ " The redhead dove at him, her lips locked with his as she pressed herself against him. In the frenzy that followed, his robe came off and he took her right there on the sofa. He was completely turned on knowing the other woman was hiding in the bedroom closet, waiting for him.

His mouth wandered down Poosycat's throat and along her body; just as she was about to… well, there was a loud knock at the door.

"Who is it?" He breathlessly called out in English. He hadn't ordered room service and was just about to reach for his gun he'd tucked beneath a pillow.

"Napoléon it's Bianca. I thought I'd surprise you. I was told you're spending some time...why don't you just let me in 'andsome? I 'ave champagne."

"Ahhh, sure just give me a minute." Cool as a cucumber, he turned to the woman on the sofa.

"Oh my goodness," Giselle said."What are you going to do...wait a minute. I am not into the _menage a trois_ if that's what you're thinking."

"No, but now that you mention it..."

She huffed at him, cutting off his lecherous thought.

"Ummm she's actually a THRUSH contact. Come on, you need to hide." Now he was lying.

Grabbing Poosycat number two's clothing; he took her to the bathroom and there he hid her in a large wicker trunk that was used as a laundry hamper.

"You'll be safe in here. Don't come out no matter what you hear."He gave her a quick peck on the cheek."I'll be back."

"Don't forget about me _s'il vous plait_?"

"Forget you Poosycat, never." He closed the hamper and composed himself before putting on his bathrobe, again.

Solo opened the door to find the leggy and quite buxom brunette standing there dressed in a very short and low cut black dress, any shorter or lower and it would have been a belt. The image was so breathtaking that he couldn't for the life of him remember her name, even though she'd said it only minutes ago. She was no THRUSH agent, but was a cabaret singer Napoleon had dallied with in the past.

"Well, hello there, Poosycat."

"Allo yourself _Napoléon!_ So you remember me then?"

"How could I forget someone with your gorgeous attributes?" He pulled her into his arms, kissing her as he deftly unzipped her dress, letting it drop to the floor.

Her flimsy lace bra and panties were next to go, leaving only her garters and stockings...those he left as he backed her against the wall. He slipped from his robe and took her right there.

It was over as quickly as it began, and they shared a glass of champagne; he was forced to bid her goodnight, telling her he had an early flight out the next morning.

Her eyes were filled with disappointment as she dressed.

"I'll let you know next time I'm here, Scout's honor. _Au revoir_...Poosycat." He closed the door after her, snapping his fingers as his thoughts went to the blonde in the bedroom closet.

Carrying the champagne and glasses with him, he headed back and opened the doors.

There she was, cuddled on the floor in all her naked glory.

"Thank goodness, I was getting lonely in 'ere. So is your company gone?"

"Sort of." He poured her a glass of bubbly after he recovered, they went straight to his bed. She was a real tigress, but like all good things, his dance with her had to come to an end.

He begged off her spending the night and told her he had an early flight in the morning. That story along with his lovemaking technique seemed to satisfy her.

Finally when the coast was clear, he rescued Giselle from the hamper in the bathroom, telling her it was a close call with the THRUSH operative but she was safe now.

Thankfully she bought it and after relaxing with some champagne, they made love.

Dinner was ordered and delivered by room service, though he opted to pass on the oysters. This Poosycat didn't seem to mind.

Supper consisted of Coquilles St.-Jacques, as well as a variety of other classic French dishes, Accompanying the meal were a fine Chablis and a white riesling. For dessert a _Paris-Brest_ , basically a cream puff filled with praline-flavored cream, served with _cafe au lait._

After eating Napoleon fell asleep with his head in Giselle's lap. Sensing his exhaustion, most likely from saving her from the THRUSH agent; she slipped away and kissed him on the forehead, bidding him good night.

Once she was gone, Solo opened his eyes and smiled. In truth he was tired and thought perhaps it was time to cut back on his Poosycats…at least for this vacation.


End file.
